


The Statute of Finwë and Míriel

by bunn



Series: Discussions upon Translations from the Elvish [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elf Culture & Customs, Elf marriage, Gen, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Mortality, Rivendell | Imladris, The Statute of Finwë and Míriel, Third Age, Tolkien Gen Week - Freeform, appalling character assassination of Isengar Took
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 20:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13395528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunn/pseuds/bunn
Summary: Bilbo Baggins has left the Shire forever, and gone to live in Rivendell.  He's beginning work on hisTranslations from the Elvish, and has started on translating an obscure text which puzzles him greatly.  Elrond has some helpful ideas.





	The Statute of Finwë and Míriel

The scent of honeysuckle filled the air. It had been a warm day in Rivendell, and now the sun was falling golden behind the purple western hills. In the east, the sky was fading to a clear glass-like green, but up here on the terrace behind the Hall of Fire, the last sun still lit the warm sandstone. The distant sound of Elves singing drifted up from the river below the house, and mingled with the liquid warbling song of a blackbird. 

The Master of Rivendell was taking his ease on the terrace, looking out across the blue depths of his valley far below, his fair ageless face wearing an expression very distant and remote. Bilbo hesitated for a moment, but then Elrond looked around, came back from whatever strange Elvish path of thought he had been wandering, and smiled. 

“Good afternoon, Master Baggins. How is the translation going?” 

“I’ve given up on the Lay of Leithian for now,” Bilbo admitted with a sigh. “The rhyme-scheme is so awfully complicated. I showed my first page to Lindir and he laughed!”

“You must have noticed by now that Lindir laughs at everything, Bilbo. Don’t take it to heart!” 

“I haven’t. The horrible thing was that I could see why he laughed, and it made me laugh too... I think it might be best, on the whole, to come back to it later. I think I need to practice my Quenya a bit more before I’m ready for verses that are so complicated.”

“All three of my texts of the Lay  _ are _ in Sindarin,” Elrond pointed out. 

“Well, yes, Master Elrond, that much had not escaped me!” Bilbo said indignantly, “But what Sindarin it is! It’s not the way people speak in Rivendell at all, or the dialect of Mirkwood either. It’s a bit more like the way Gildor and his folk speak, but so much more complicated. There are lots of old words I can’t work out at all. I thought perhaps if I brushed up my Quenya it would help.”

“I see,” Elrond said thoughtfully. “I suppose both languages have changed a great deal. I don’t notice it myself, unless I think about it.”

“Anyway, I thought I’d try translating some prose from Quenya into Westron,” Bilbo told him. “If I can manage to get that right, then I can go back to Sindarin poetry and it should be easier. Or at least, the memory of Lindir falling over laughing will have faded a bit.” 

“It seems a wise path of approach. So which Quenya text have you chosen?” 

“Well, that’s what I was hoping to ask you about,” Bilbo said. “I’ve started work on this one,  _ The Statute of Finwë and Míriel _ .”

Elrond’s eyebrows shot up. “A strange choice, Master Baggins!” 

“It’s one of the oldest texts I’ve come across, so it seemed it should make good practice to puzzle through it,” Bilbo said. He looked sideways at Elrond and decided that he seemed to be in a good mood. “And I’m inquisitive. Elves seem very strange, to Hobbits. You all live so very long that it’s hard for us mere mortals to work out how you make your personal arrangements.” 

“I suppose it must be. So you have read  _ The Statute of Finwë and Míriel,  _ and now you have questions that neither Lindir nor Erestor will answer, and so you have come to me?” 

Bilbo opened his mouth, thought better of what he was going to say, and settled for nodding. 

Elrond was looking amused, which was a good sign: it meant he was not too busy to talk, and would probably have interesting things to say. “Take a seat, Master Baggins,” he said. “Let us see if we can puzzle a way through this weighty matter.” 

The seats and benches that were scattered around the gardens of Rivendell were made for Elves, and so far too tall for Bilbo. His climbing days were, he hoped, far behind him, but fortunately this particular bench had a huge ornamental stone hound as one of the supports, and its massive paw and head formed an excellent hobbit-sized set of steps. He went up them and settled himself comfortably upon the cushions. 

“I can’t quite make out what  _ The Statute of Finwë and Míriel _ is supposed to  _ be _ ,” he admitted. “I thought at first it was a book-law, such as we have in the Shire. I’m quite familiar with those — I have argued a case or two before the Reeve in the Shire Court in my time — so I thought it would be easy enough to render into Westron. But then as I went on, I thought perhaps it was intended as a fairy-tale, with a moral as the ending. But then it seemed to become a ghost-story — though not a very scary one — and then the ending was just very odd indeed. I could make no sense of it. I asked Lindir, and he said it had never made sense to him either. Then I asked Erestor, and he said that perhaps I should try something simpler. But if I do that, I shall never get anywhere!”

“It is a book-law,” Elrond said. “And it is also a history of the Elves, though I think that is not quite what you mean when you say ‘fairy-tale’. Whether there is a moral at the ending, and if so what it is, is something that the Elves have long debated. I think it does have one, myself. But tell me: how did the story tell itself to you? Perhaps if you explain it to me, that will help.”

“All right then,” Bilbo said, and thought about it for a moment. The sun had almost reached the horizon now and the western sky was filled with shades of flame. The long shadows had reached the terrace, and two Elves were moving around the garden, lighting the lamps. 

“There was a Lord of the High Elves, called Finwë, and he married the Lady Míriel. But her first babe was too big for her, poor lass, and she took sick and died of it, though the baby lived, though nobody seemed very glad of it at the time, poor little soul. After all, you can’t say it’s uncommon, when that happens, for the baby to die too. But he lived, and he was called Fëanáro. Is that right? Fëanáro?”

“That is right. Fëanor, in the Common Tongue. They were not used to such sorrow,” Elrond said. “It’s not a thing that happens much among the Elves. It had never happened before.” 

“Well, bless me! Not that it isn’t sad, of course, but in the Shire you could hardly call it a great rarity.”

“I think it was not quite that the baby was too big,” Elrond said. “I know that is a grief that comes to Hobbits, but I have never heard of it among the Elves. Say rather than Míriel had poured all her own great power and ability into her son, and it left her weary, so that she sought rest.”

“Oh? That’s a thing I’ve heard of too, though not as often... Anyway, this Lord Finwë wanted to marry again, but for some reason, he needed the permission of his Lord Manwë to do it. So Manwë said he might be allowed to, as long as, somehow, the Lady Míriel agreed to it. And then they asked Míriel’s ghost if she wanted to come back to life or not, and she said she didn’t want to, so Finwë married the Lady Indis instead, and had more children with her. Except that wasn’t the right thing either, because it says here that it would have been better if he had not remarried.”

“A true reading of the text as written,” Elrond said. “But I cannot altogether agree with it, for I am descended in part from the children of Indis myself. Nor do I think that all of Fëanor’s house held to that view. Those of his sons that I once knew did not.”

Bilbo blinked in surprise. “You knew his sons?” 

“Two of them, yes. But tell me what you made of the rest of the tale. If I remember rightly, Mandos said later that he thought the children of Indis also had their role to play.”

“Well, then the Valar all have a good old argument. That bit is just like the Shire Court having a particularly quarrelsome day; everyone has an angle and can’t they just wait to make their point! Manwë says that Míriel died because of the Enemy, and blames Finwë for... something. I can’t work out what, but he seems to be against him marrying again. Aulë thinks the whole thing is the will of Eru and nothing to do with Fëanor or his parents at all. Ulmo thinks... what does Ulmo think?” 

He consulted his notebook. “Ulmo says Fëanor’s birth is a portent of evil. I can think of a few toddlers you might be tempted to say that of, but I do hope nobody told the poor child about it! Yavanna says that Míriel was killed by the Enemy, and Nienna says that the whole thing was hard on everyone, which seems true enough. Ulmo thinks it’s Míriel’s own fault she died, poor lady, which seems terribly cruel to me, and he says it is Finwë’s fault that he wanted to marry again and not live alone in mourning for his wife. I don’t know why they all have an opinion on the poor man marrying, unless it’s like the Shire Court again, where everyone has an opinion if you will insist on asking them. Vairë says that she knows Míriel well and she never ever changes her mind, so they might as well let Finwë marry Indis. How can Míriel change her mind if she’s dead?”

“Death for Elves is not like death for Men, or Hobbits, or even Dwarves, Bilbo. Míriel chose death, but she could have chosen to return. That is why Finwë could not remarry, as a Hobbit would, knowing that his wife was gone forever, but must seek guidance of the Valar. It’s a ... somewhat complicated matter, but for the purposes of understanding this history, it is enough to say that the death of Elves is only of the body, and they can often choose to return in time to life in the West beyond the Sea. Hobbits pass beyond the world, from which there is no return until it ends, but Elves are bound to this world, and cannot leave it.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, a little faintly and sat back to think about that. The sun had set, and above, the stars were pricking into life against a sky of deepest blue. It was a still, calm evening, and the terrace still held the memory of warmth from the vanished Sun. Around the gardens of Rivendell, pale lamps shone, and here and there, pale moths fluttered around them, delicate wings brushing the glass for a moment.

“Is that a good thing?” he asked, after a while.

Now it was Elrond’s turn to pause and think. “I don’t know,” he said, eventually. “A thing neither good nor bad, I would call it. It is the nature of Elves. If you asked Glorfindel, he would call it good, to be able to return to the world and take up life again. Míriel may have thought differently, at least for a while. Yet both are Elves, and both are bound to the world. And that is why there was debate among the Valar. To Finwë, life was filled with joy, yet Míriel had done all that she would do, and sought rest, and that brought Finwë sorrow he had not earned, and his son, too. Does that help you understand?”

“It makes a good deal more sense now than it did before,” Bilbo said. “I thought I must have quite misunderstood something. So that is what the part about her body lying in sleep in Lórien meant. I couldn’t make that out.” 

“That’s right. It was preserved, and yet unliving, in a way that could not happen here in Middle-earth, while her spirit fled to the Halls of the Dead.” 

“So at the end of the great debate — aha! This is the part you mentioned before, where Mandos has the last word! Mandos says that though it would be jolly good if Finwë decided to wait for Míriel to change her mind, it would also be jolly good if he married Indis, because they will have lots of children who will do great things, then he mentions the evening star, and a light that doesn’t grow dim. I don’t know what that means, but they all seem to find it very impressive, and Manwë announces that Finwë and Indis can marry after all.”

Elrond smiled. “Let me guess; that was what you asked Erestor about?” 

“How did you work that out?” Bilbo asked him in some confusion. 

“A safe enough guess. Erestor is over-careful of my feelings. Mandos foretells the coming of my father, Eärendil, who is also the evening star, to Valinor to summon aid against the Enemy. He is not speaking of the rising of the star that happens every evening, but of what he can foresee of the Children of Indis and their descendants, and their deeds.”

“Oh, I see!” Bilbo said, enlightened, scribbling a pencil note into his notebook. “I know the story of the star, of course, and Gandalf once told me that it was about your father. But I didn’t think to connect it to this. I do hope I wasn’t rude.”

“Not at all, Master Baggins,” Elrond said, imperturbable. “It makes a refreshing change for someone to approach the matter without tiptoeing around it. After all, you have told me more than a little of your own family affairs in the years that we have known one another. I feel I know Otho and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins personally, by now, though we have never met... So, Mandos judged that Finwë should be permitted choice: to wait for Míriel, and have only one child, or to marry again and father more children who would one day bring light of a different kind. He chose to marry Indis.”

“I see!” Bilbo said and scribbled another note to himself. “Then afterward, Finwë was killed by the Enemy, and he went to Míriel — both of them are ghosts now, presumably— and she was pleased to see him, and decided that she wanted to make a tapestry showing him and his new wife and all his children.  _ Can _ that be right? It sounds very improbable.”

Elrond was smiling. “I very much hope you will complete this translation and add notes, Bilbo,” he said. “I have never considered these long-discussed problems through Hobbit eyes.”

“And now  _ you  _ are laughing at my translation!” Bilbo exclaimed, although he was not really offended: in fact he thought it very kind of Elrond to listen so patiently, and offer so much help. 

“Not at all!” Elrond reassured him, his grey eyes bright with delight. “I am very pleased you have taken on the work. Yes, you have read that section rightly. The story goes that Míriel was glad to see her husband, and wished to return to life so that she could take up her old skills and tell the story of all his family in a great tapestry. The dead in the Halls of Mandos — the ghosts, as you put it — they cannot make things. She needed to return to her body to be able to do that.”

“So she did change her mind after all, though Vairë said before that she never would! And next, there’s something about... a fine? Or a ransom? Finwë paid it, so that Míriel could have her body back... and I’m very glad you explained that bit. I won’t tell you what I was imagining... Why would the Valar demand a fine? And whatever would he pay them with?”

“Finwë offered never to return from the Halls of Mandos, so that Míriel would be free to choose to return to life,” Elrond explained. “They could not both return, for then Finwë would be alive, and have two wives living, and that is against the law.”

“My uncle Isengar Took had two wives at once,” Bilbo said thoughtfully. “One in Hobbiton, and one in Tuckborough. It was a great scandal when they found out about one another. He always was a bit peculiar, uncle Isengar. They say he went to sea in his youth.” 

“What happened to him?” Elrond enquired with some interest. 

“He moved to Staddle and the family cut him off. The Hobbiton wife remarried, and the Tuckborough one started a very successful brewery with her sister. That’s why Gandalf was thought so disreputable in the Shire: not the brewery of course, the two wives, I mean. Isengar had been a friend of his, so of course everyone assumed that Gandalf had encouraged him.”

“I doubt Mithrandir would favour such a thing,” Elrond sounded surprised. 

“Uncle Isengar needed very little encouragement from anyone. But you know what people are like in the Shire. Or, perhaps you don’t, at that,” he added, noticing Elrond’s uncharacteristically baffled expression. 

“They blamed Gandalf for Isengar’s two wives — I’m not sure Gandalf even  _ knows _ he married twice — and they blamed him that I went off with the dwarves. Some people do love gossip. I dropped in to visit him a couple of times, after I got back from my adventure; Isengar, I mean, not Gandalf. He was a quite disgraceful old rake, but he didn’t have any other family to speak of: not that would speak to him, anyway, so I thought I’d best make sure he wasn’t going hungry. He wasn’t: they’re good neighbourly folk in Staddle. He had many tales to tell, and some of them might even have been true. He died years ago. But he never had to ransom either of his wives... So Finwë bought Míriel’s return by offering to stay dead, but she decided not to go back to her own people, and stayed with Vairë, making tapestries, and that’s the end of the story. You’d think she’d go to see her son, since she hadn’t seen him since he was a baby.”

“She could not do that,” Elrond said. “Fëanor had left Aman by then, and gone to Middle-earth, pursuing... vengeance for his father’s death. But that is a much longer and more complicated story. The Lay of Leithian is part of it, and the Narn i Chîn Húrin, and many other songs and stories besides.”

“I won’t ask you to explain all of that then,” Bilbo said. “Or at least not before supper! But you said you thought the story might have a moral to it. I still can’t see one.”

“Well,” Elrond said and paused for a moment, thinking. The moon had risen, and although the garden was already bright with lamps, it cast a clear light on his face. “To me it seems that the moral is that although you can make all sorts of rules about how and where there should or should not be love, in the end, each person must make their own choice about it. And even if they make the choice that might not seem wise or patient, still light can come from it. But perhaps you should finish making your own translation of the story, and then you can tell me afterwards what moral you found. I think from the moon, it must indeed be time for supper. Shall we go down to the house?” 


End file.
